


Magellan: Measuring the Gravitational Pull of Venus

by AFullRiggedShip (Wintermane)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Freeform, Hannibal s3, Hannigram-Freeform, I don’t even know how to tag fic out anymore, M/M, No Sex, Post-Fall (Hannibal), its not even post show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintermane/pseuds/AFullRiggedShip
Summary: An odd sort of love letter to anxiety.Will’s racing mind pre-fall.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 6





	Magellan: Measuring the Gravitational Pull of Venus

**Author's Note:**

> Oof okay hi hello, this is apparently how I handle things. Disappearing for years only to come back with another jumble of words. 
> 
> This is technicallyyyyy show!verse, but it’s more my rambling anxiety thoughts for Will in those last tiny seconds of S3.   
> I barely edit these, they’re fairly disjointed and it’s mostly based off of “feelings”. Whew just pack me up and send me back to my high school days at this rate. At this point I just hope y’all are pretty used to it. 
> 
> This deep dive has also lead me to a bunch of vampireAU (it’s really just Royal Affair, let’s be honest) fanart on insta/twitter. Uhh follow me there for some extremely mixed content and flailing. [softcenteregg].
> 
> Ahh anyway, here we go go-

How many steps does it take for you to walk to your car, leaves crunching beneath worn soles?  
The air is crisp, biting at your bare neck as fall turns to winter.

How many miles is it from your home that we are sitting on mismatched furniture in deep silence? A warm hearth that does not sooth eternal aches of deep waters.

How many days will it be before icy hands with veins spiderwebbing across, taut with anxiety thaw out? Spring does not come early for those who are looking for it, but late, when the ground is still frozen though trees are budding.

—

Will could not see.  
Will could not see, but he could feel.   
The slick expanding pool of blood beneath his feet. The uneven flagstones. His shirt, clinging to his body from sweat. Hands hot, as his pulse raced. Blood through living veins, rushing through his body. Like being in a car, pulled over during a torrential rain at night. Eyes unable to pick through the darkness any oncoming cars. Side of the road, is someone coming, is anyone out there, has everyone been washed away, where can you hide from this eternal, persistent rain-

Hands are grabbing Will’s shoulders, strong and burning like fire. 

Will can see.  
Will can see, but he cannot hear.  
Mouth moving to form words, thin lips stained with blood, but only to be ironic. The fabric of the shirt before him is wrinkled. Out of place from crisp suits and white perfect buttons. The sound of his heartbeat is overbearing. Standing to close to a speaker, bass pounding deep in your lungs, cigarettes and bright lights overbearing -outside in cold weather, rubbing your hands together, eyes stinging, but that feeling in your lungs just won’t go away and the buildings seem to close around you and your voice is too loud in empty alleyways, but it’s late and no one can hear you-

Will closes his eyes. He is standing very close to the owner of those hands. Hands red like the burning daylight that Vasilisa sees do the work of Baba Yaga. Hands that twisted flesh and bone, truth and lies. Hands that bound him, wrapped around his neck and choked him slowly- depriving the body of oxygen and sanity. Hands that held his face close, with flushed cheeks and trembling lips and breathed something that was between life and death back into his empty shell. 

Will exhales.  
Don’t panic.   
Don’t let the blood ponding in the body, begging to be set free, spill out onto the already sodden ground. Don’t let that nagging feeling that leaves the bitter taste of bile in the back of your throat, the one that lives buried deep inside right next to the heart let itself out. Don’t let the heady rush of adrenaline wear off and leave the body weak, struggling like a newborn calf, desperate to fill the void with anything else.  
Don’t. 

Will opens his eyes and his field of view is full. Full of papers and clocks, lavish dinners, quite moments at his small table, books upon books, and spindly chairs, lush deep rich conversations that swallowed him whole- and eyes that caught the edge of an eternity. 

There is only one second, one flicker so tiny in the eyes of watchful gods and the beasts of the universe that walk among stars. One grain of sand on endless beaches- where one single drop of water from just one wave that has gone around the world to get there for the briefest time makes contact. 

Will’s forehead connects with the one in front of him. There is only the smell of blood and it makes his skin ache, there is just so much. His breath cannot escape his body fast enough, but his throat with the feeling of hands still tightening their grip does not let it escape. A hand cups the back of his head as hot   
Ah.   
There it is.  
A twinge of pain in his abdomen.  
It remembers.

Suddenly they are moving, Will barely registers as the edge approaches, darkness waiting below to swallow him whole. White teeth at the end of a wide gaping eternal maw. The crash of waves and pounding of his heart means that he does not notice. The loud roar and pressure that has been slowing building in his head from holding ones breath for far too long. Mind screaming, but silent.   
Swiftly cut off by lips meeting as they fall.

Only briefly does the icy water come as a shock, forcing its way into his lungs, needles worming their way into his skin and pores. White hot like the rays of the rising sun skim across his body. 

A hand.  
A hand now cold and dark reaches up, blood spilled many many times. Hand dark like the night sky through freezing waters does catch him by the shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah. Feelings.   
> Haha. Not sure when I’ll be back next. Maybe real soon. Maybe it’ll be another year or two. I’d like to add more to this chunk like I did with the last one- we’ll see.


End file.
